Furious Fire: Grimm's Circle, Book 8

by Shiloh Walker

  A hand touched his arm and he looked over at Rip. The man jerked his head, pointed to his chest, then jerked his head at the roof, then gestured toward the alley.

  As a plan, it was simple enough. Rip would go in that way and Finn would come in from another. They needed to see what they were dealing with and they needed to get as many mortals out as they could before the incubae in there called the rest of their friends home. Incubae and succubae were like bees, the majority of them just drones, guided by the strongest—a king or queen. They operated in a hivelike state, sometimes in groups as small as four, sometimes as large as twenty.

  This one, they estimated at fourteen.

  Rip and Finn planned to pick off the stronger ones, then wait for the others to come rushing back so they could deal with them as well.

  One thing about the demons who dealt in sex—they were predictable. Take out the leader and it was like they had no control. They always followed that instinct and they found themselves pulled back to wherever it had happened.

  Before they separated, Rip held up a hand with three fingers extended. Three minutes. Then he’d see how many he could save.

  He spent the first two minutes and twenty seconds checking his Colts, the bullets, even though he already knew everything was in perfect working condition. He eyed the door in front of him, felt it as his heart rate started to slow, his vision sharpening down, clarifying.

  Ten seconds to go—

  There was a scream, cut short. And then, a freezing, chilling sensation he knew all too well.

  Son of a bitch.

  One of demonic, freed, left to search for a body and there were plenty of them inside.

  Finn opened the door and stepped into a dark, dark maw.

  His eyes needed no time to adjust and they instantly locked on the woman, crouched, absurdly, behind a piano.

  There was a gun in her hand. Finn narrowed his eyes, recognizing the make immediately. A Colt M1877, just like the two he carried and the black woman held it with confidence.

  In the span of five seconds, he noticed several things.

  She had an exquisite beauty to her features, and a mouth made for all things carnal.

  She had blood on her face.

  And as the demon edged closer to her, she eased soundlessly away, almost like she knew he was coming.

  Finn studied him in the few seconds he had. Eyes too aware, too focused. The king—this hive’s particular leader. This might not be that hard after all. If they could do this without any humans getting killed.

  “That was foolish, girl,” the incubae said, his voice silky. “All you did was give him a chance to find a new home. You should have left him to bleed, then he’d be helpless a few more minutes. But now…”

  Finn heard the noise coming from the far side of the room. A split second later, he heard something else—a crack, then Rip’s voice, caustic and sharp. “Oh, don’t worry, old man. I took care of that…”

  A man’s body was flung from the depths of the shadows and the demon snarled.

  But instead of lunging for Rip, or fleeing, the king turned and caught the piano, wresting it from the floor and hurling it across the room. It came close enough to the shadowy alcove where Finn waited that he felt the wind of its passage against his skin.

  “One more move, Grimm…”

  His words ended on a painful broken snarl. “You…little…cunt…”

  Finn emerged from the shadows in time to see the knife flash.

  Rip lunged forward just as Finn did, but neither of them could pull her back in time. Blood pulsed in a heavy flow down her neck and she stumbled, almost fell. Finn caught her in his arms.

  Once more, too late.

  He clamped his hand over the flow as Rip snapped the demon’s spine, ensuring he would live for a while yet. Long enough for Rip to make sure none of the mortals here could serve as a new host.

  “Finn…” Rip’s voice trailed off.

  He barely heard the man, staring down at the woman he held, her blood spilling out of her with every passing second.

  “Hush,” Finn said as she struggled to talk.

  “American,” she said, the words garbled and liquid. Broken.

  “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes. “…know…what…they…” the words trailed off, more blood gushing from the wound, even as he tried to stem the flow.

  “She wants to know if you know what they are,” Rip said, his voice grim.

  Finn jerked his head up to see Rip staring at the woman with stark, harsh eyes. “They?”

  “Yes. Her thoughts are…strange and I’m not strong enough to pick through them but that’s what she wants.”

  “De…mons,” she said, looking at him once more.

  Rip crouched at her side, touching her brow, his mouth tight. “You know them.”

  She never looked away from Finn’s face.

  “We know,” he said, somehow certain that’s what she needed to hear. “We’ll get the rest of them. Stop them.”

  A smile bowed her lips up, her lids drifting down yet again.

  In that moment, she looked at peace.

  Then, a sigh wracked her body and her lashes fluttered before she locked her gaze on him a final time. “You. I kept…’opin’…” I kept hoping… She lifted a hand, only to have it fall feebly to her side.

  She thought he was somebody else in these final moments. Perhaps she only had seconds.

  If that was the only way he could give her comfort in this moment, then he’d give it. “I’m here,” he said, wishing he knew who he was supposed to be. Who she was.

  “Tommy…”

  He stiffened.

  He hadn’t heard that name in an age.

  And he didn’t know this woman. But to hear that name, on a woman’s lips, it ripped a hole in him.

  “Tommy,” she said again, her words a soft, liquid French, and oddly, clear, despite the injury. Clear, and strong. “I missed you…forgive me, my love.”

  Then, just like that, she was gone.

  Chapter Five

  I looked into the eyes of death. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. I’d faced death before, and normally it didn’t frighten me. It wasn’t my time to die. I knew that.

  I would die at a set moment in time.

  After I’d found Tommy. I’d see him and I’d know it was my time. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe in a few days or a few weeks, but it would signify the end.

  But I hadn’t seen him yet so I couldn’t go—

  Mr. Shiny here didn’t seem to realize this was the plan, though. He didn’t get that it wasn’t my time to die.

  He looked at me and he decided to kill me. I could see it stamped on his features. I don’t think he took much pleasure in the idea.

  He didn’t want to kill me, but that wasn’t going to stop him. My death was a job he had in front of him and he’d see it done. I could admire a determination to see a job done. Except I was the job.

  He was going to kill me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop him.

  Staring at him over the dead body of the demon, I figured all of this out in the span of a few seconds and I thought I was going to be sick. I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

  His eyes flashed, glowing in the dim alley and I realized I was shaking.

  Darkness swirled around me.

  “Lower the weapon, child,” he murmured as that press on my brain grew heavier.

  Lower…

  My gaze flicked to the weapon.

  Lower it.

  It was kinda heavy.

  I started to lower it, thought about maybe sitting down. I could rest a bit, then figure out what I was supposed—

  Stop it!

  Self-preservation, the one thing I’d always been able to count on, kicked me in the ass and I
whipped the Glock back up, my hand still trembling, my muscles aching. Whoa. Whatever kind of mojo he was packing, it was deadly.

  “Why?” I demanded, forcing the question out through gritted teeth. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

  He cocked his head, looking puzzled.

  “Are you not tired?” he asked. His voice was low…pleasant. “You fight and you fight with nothing to show for it but nightmares and broken bones and a battered spirit. You can rest now. You are tired.”

  I was tired…so tired. I wanted to rest…

  “Stop it!” I screeched it so loud, my throat was raw with it.

  He blinked. The glow in his eyes ebbed.

  A split second later, the gun was ripped away and one hand caught mine as I scrabbled for the knife I’d strapped to my back—how had he even known it was there? The other cupped my face.

  His touch was absurdly gentle, like he didn’t want to hurt me.

  Good—I could use that.

  As the knife clattered to the ground, I wrenched away.

  I didn’t get far. Maybe a half inch.

  “Be calm,” Will said, his voice soft. The last thing he’d wanted to do was frighten her. She had fought, long and hard, for a very long time, through a number of lifetimes.

  But she was one mortal, and one mortal couldn’t touch on what his Grimm could do.

  His allegiance would always be to them and her existence was driving Finn mad. This tragic loop had to be broken and Will could only see one way to do it.

  “Be calm,” he said again, compulsion leaking from him.

  “That is so not going to happen!” she all but shrieked, the shrill tone bouncing off the brick walls.

  It was only the centuries he had behind him that gave him the strength of will to keep from gaping at her.

  The good news was that he’d been somewhat prepared earlier, wrapping a muffling shell of his power around them the moment they left the bar—sometimes the work his Grimm did got messy. Couldn’t risk being discovered, especially in this day and age. His abilities had evolved and changed with the times and this particular talent was being put to use more and more.

  No others would hear her cries.

  Will, though, he’d have to hear.

  Not that he couldn’t silence her.

  He just…

  He tried again. “Calm down. I won’t hurt you—”

  She kicked him and he swore as her boot heel ripped down his shin. He didn’t move aside.

  Like her screams, he’d take the fury and the pain she might inflict.

  It was the only thing he could think that might help to balance the scales.

  Nothing will do that. She is helpless and you will kill her. You take the pain to ease your own guilt.

  But even that was a lie, because nothing would ease his guilt and he would do this anyway.

  Catching her chin in his hand, he lowered his mental shields. Should have just done this without her seeing me, he thought darkly. But a warrior should have a warrior’s death, not be taken down from behind, with no idea of why.

  Not that he’d had any hope of offering her anything but a frantic, terror-filled death now. She’d taken one look at him and realized something was off with him.

  Staring into her eyes, he slid past the frantic thoughts, tried to calm her mind.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, forcing the words into her head.

  “No, you’re just going to kill me,” she shouted. Then, abruptly, she reached out, her hands curling into the front of his coat and she sagged. “No. I can’t…not…not…”

  An image burst inside her mind.

  “Not yet.”

  It was a plea.

  Will, shaken, backpedaled away from her, staring.

  She fell forward, not seeming to realize he was no longer holding her.

  “Finn,” he whispered. It wasn’t until the name had slipped past him that he realized he’d spoken.

  She jerked her head up, stared.

  “You.” A snarl contorted her face. Then she lunged at him.

  She was fast.

  He had to give her that.

  For a mortal, she was beyond fast and she smashed her fist into his jaw with a force that would have done him serious damage had he still been human. As it was, he suspected she might have done herself damage.

  She didn’t let that stop her. She had a gun—blast it, he hadn’t checked her for a second one—in her hand in the next moment. That speed, that skill, all of it, was startlingly familiar.

  “You know him,” she said accusingly. “Where is he? If you plan on killing me, you can at least let me see him. Let me…” Her voice broke and she stared at him, confused, scared, but determined. She gripped her weapon, steady, surprisingly calm. She took a deep, slow breath. “Where is he? Why is this happening? You owe me that much.”

  “Do I?” he mused, studying her.

  There was nothing to be done for it, not really. He couldn’t let this go now, not knowing what he knew.

  He struck out.

  A split second later, she was on the ground.

  Death didn’t linger.

  Not like this.

  Finn grimaced as he circled yet another island.

  It was larger and the ruins of what he thought might be a hunting lodge perched overhead. It was full daylight, but he wasn’t concerned about being seen.

  Lifetimes had taught him how to avoid it instinctively.

  He was lost in the green. In the distance, cutting between the trees that wrapped around him, he could see the sun dancing off the water. It had pierced the clouds overhead and as the day grew later, more and more blue cut through.

  Finn was honest enough to admit the beauty was staggering.

  But he couldn’t enjoy it, not for longer than it took to notice it.

  That taint of death was even stronger here.

  It wasn’t a search to find its source, either.

  There was a hotel, closed for the year, but apparently a caretaker lived—or had lived—here year around.

  The walls were now stained with blood.

  The stale reek of sex perfumed the air.

  He almost thought he could hear the screams as he moved down the halls.

  In the office, he stood, studying, looking for some idea of where to start, who to look for.

  How long had the person or persons here been missing?

  He found his first clue on the answering machine—clogged with messages. The oldest was three weeks old. A couple calling to check on a reservation. He barely noticed the names or the words, but she called twice more and her agitation grew with each call.

  Another couple, calling to make reservations.

  A man calling about a delivery not being collected.

  A woman’s voice, laughing and amused. “James, you forgot our date…working again? Call me.”

  She called him twice more—the first call was irritated. The third call was angry.

  She called a fourth time—Finn barely recognized her voice. Quavery, rough with worry. “James, where are you? I was fed up with you not calling me, but I saw Angus in town and he said a shipment he’d sent to you wasn’t picked up. I called your mum—she hasn’t heard from you in two weeks. James? Call me back or I’ll…I’ll…”

  The final call was from law enforcement.

  Finn grimaced, listening to the timestamp.

  That morning.

  He’d have to be quick.

  He left the beautiful, death-filled island behind.

  He’d been rowing for fifteen minutes—keeping his speed to a human limit—when he heard the engine.

  He looked back.

  Cops—whatever they were called here.

  “You won’t find anything,” he murmured.

&nbs
p; But there would be another missing person added to the roster of the lost here.

  Setting his jaw, Finn focused on the islands ahead, judged the distance. Too far to row. Well, not exactly. He could do it, and easily, but it would take forever if he kept to mortal means and he’d also catch some attention. Now, more than ever, it was important that he not do that.

  Probably not best that it be discovered he’d borrowed the use of somebody’s boat, either.

  “Being an angel would probably work better if we actually did have wings.”

  The medallion he wore around his neck pulsed, hot against his flesh.

  Finn snorted.

  “Real ones.”

  He needed to let it go for now. Figure out where to look next, get some food, clear his mind.

  Then he had to decide what to do next. He thought for a minute about contacting Will for an update.

  Nah. It was better to go it alone. Just like he did with everything else.

  Always alone.

  “You don’t have to be…”

  Chapter Six

  Scotland, 1945

  “Somebody is killing people in the infirmary.”

  Finn didn’t like the uniform. Tugging at the neck of it, he looked over at Greta and decided it was a pain in the ass that he was in a uniform for this job, and she was wearing a pair of trousers and a heavy, cable knit sweater.

  He didn’t like the uniform, he didn’t like the stink of blood and death and decay—and that had nothing to do with demons, and everything to do with the war.

  He also didn’t like what Greta had said.

  The war had killed enough people. Couldn’t those in the infirmary be left alone?

  “Something?” he asked, sliding her a look. He missed home. He missed the long, hot days of summer and the dreary winters. Anything would be better than this—the gray days that never ended. This war that just went on and on.

  “If I knew what was doing the killing, I would have said.” Her voice was calm. That was Greta. Little seemed to affect her. She was one of the few he didn’t mind working with, if he was forced to take on a partner.

  There were rumors that a number of demons were highly ranked in Hitler’s army. None of them had anything to do with the war. They were just opportunistic scavengers and once the plans were in motion and they saw the chance for chaos, they’d moved on it.